Watson's Great Idea
by lew daney
Summary: Holmes doesn't have much action due to a lack of interesting cases. But Watson has an idea which is really good... or isn't it?
1. Chapter 1

I

Holmes was bored. Bored to death. And not without reason, as there hadn't been any alluring cases for him to try his deduction methods on, for the greater part of a month. And what concerned me the most, was not the fact that he should eventually try to stimulate his brain artificially, but the fact that he had had no basic exercise for almost a week. Every day he would wake up around twelve, eat a frugal meal and lay on the main room's settee until he went to bed again at night. Not even his fiddle he would play any more.

And so the day came when his health became considerably deteriorated by the lack of limb motion, joint rotation and muscle stretch. As for his mental state, there was no need for medical diagnosis.

"What's the use, Watson?" he would ask whenever I suggested going for a stroll, even if as short as keeping to Baker Street.

"But Homes," I replied once, "you just cannot go on like this. Anytime you might be summoned to a case and you will need all of your stamina, but your body isn't going to act on your command."

"How little you know me, my friend," he answered. "The way my body works is a peculiar one, or at least, peculiar according to medical standards. For me it's all about the brain; if it needs the rest of the body, it will start it… just like that!" he added as he snapped his fingers. "Unfortunately it doesn't work the other way around."

"Well that is just sad."

"What?"

"That you should gloat about your mind power, as I see you worse and worse every day."

"I'm telling you, Watson," he said; "the day an interesting case arouses, you'll see me in unrestrained activity, as you've seen me in better days."

"Oh, you would love to have a case right now, wouldn't you?" said I, the draft of a great idea dawning in my mind.

"Why, yes! A case as dark as not being even positive about what crime has been committed. Give me that, and I promise you a daily stroll whenever times like these should be repeated."

If I was undecided, Holmes's last words convinced me to put my idea to work; I said 'goodnight' to my friend and went to my bedroom. I wrote a letter and got into bed, but I found it difficult to fall asleep due to the excitement of wondering what the result would be. Basically, my idea consisted on writing a letter to Henry Desailles – an acquaintance of mine I had just renewed – explaining to him my friend's situation, and asking him to present a case for Holmes in the shape of a telegram, so that he left the house for an hour or so. Henry was a writer of such cunning mystery plots, that he had become a big name in England. In my letter I asked him to wire an urgent message to Holmes, in the same fashion as he had read in the chronicles I had written. I went as far as to suggest that he should use some of the ideas he considered to be 'too crazy' for a novel's plot. Finally, there was the obvious need that no real names should be mentioned.

With these thoughts in my mind, I started to fall slowly asleep. Of course, I didn't expect Holmes to experience an outstanding change with my plan, for he was sure to be disappointed after he found out that his help was not actually needed. But as a doctor, I had reached the conclusion that the activity this phoney case would force him to undertake was worth the try. Perhaps Holmes was right when he explained how his teased brain had the power to make him recover his physical health; but it was even more evident that when his mind had no action, his body got ill to the point of becoming almost vegetable. Hopefully, Henry's telegram would represent a puzzle itself, as many times Holmes had been following cases, in which he didn't take any part, with the greatest enthusiasm.


	2. Chapter 2

II

Two days after I had sent the letter to Henry Desailles, I woke up to find my friend finishing a most abundant breakfast, and strolling swiftly about the room with a cup of coffee and a biscuit in his hands. His eyes shone again – with that glimmer that was so frequent when his mind was working full on – and his mouth hummed a joyful made-up melody.

"Come in, Watson," he welcomed me with a loud, happy voice. "I was just about to go for a stroll!" he added with a smirk.

The faint guilt I had felt since sending the letter, vanished instantly at the sight of that cheerful version of Holmes. I had heard the mailboy call from my room and I was satisfied his new state of mind was a consequence of my plan.

"I thought I heard the mailboy's voice," I said glibly.

"And you are right!" he almost screamed. "Finally, my methods shall be put to the test again!"

"So I gather you have just received a letter or telegram?"

"Telegram," he answered. "Two actually; let me read them for you."

"Two?"

"Yes. Good news don't come alone, you know," he said as he waved two envelopes in his hand. "Naturally, I opened the one with the Royal stamps first."

"Royal stamps!" I said slightly alarmed.

"Quite. Apparently the son of an Under-Secretary of State is lost… again! Remember Lord Greenstone's older son? A boy of seventeen; we found him partying with some friends after having every man in Scotland Yard looking for him for two days. That brat! I'm sure it's nothing to worry about. Now this one…" he said holding the envelope with commonplace stamps in his hand.

"Wait, Holmes," I interrupted. "You're not suggesting you're taking no notice of Lord Greenstone's telegram? I'm sure the boy has learnt his lesson!"

"I'm merely going to explain politely that I'm currently engaged in a most remarkable case, which requires my full attention," he said smiling.

"But you aren't!" I screamed.

"Well, why don't you hear this before you make any further comments?" he said as he unfolded the second telegram. "I wouldn't miss such a case for the world!"

I was concerned about sending Holmes on a fool's errand, at the time his abilities were required by an Under-Secretary of State; and yet, I was eager to hear what Desailles had come up with to excite my friend's mind to that extent.

"Dear Mr Holmes," he began to read, "I'd be much obliged to you, if you should come to my house at once and give me your advice after the remarkable discovery I made in one of my rooms. In a nutshell, the door was bolted on the inside and – after my servants and I forced it – we found…" here Holmes paused to allow me a guess.

"A dead body!" said I.

"That shouldn't be remarkable, Watson. How many cases like that have we had already? No, it's a lot trickier than that," he said and he continued reading the telegram, "… we found a huge pool of blood on the floor, and smears in most of the walls. We also found the window with the shutters on, which left us puzzled about how did the dead man (the blood is enough to assume he's dead) and his killer leave the room. And they couldn't have escaped by the chimney, for it's impossible to climb; plus, that's the only place where we found no trace of blood. The only two foreign objects present in the room were a golden watch (over the night table) and an ace of spades (at the bottom of the fireplace). I also noticed some footmarks on the gravel just under the window, but they could have been left by anyone who needed fresh air; besides, the window's shutters are so heavy that it's fairly impossible for anyone to have gone out that way, using a trick to close the window. Unfortunately, the room is upstairs and far to the right, so none of the fifty guests I had last night would have heard anything. You see, Mr Holmes, my position is a desperate one; the police are demanding explanations which I cannot produce; so I hope you can find the time to visit me and I'll show you everything you need to see. Yours sincerely, Frank Stanley."

I took the envelope to check the sender's address. It was Skyway Manor, some miles to the south by the Brighton road. I had asked Desailles to summon Holmes somewhere far from our residence, so that his journey were a long one; but now I found myself making rough calculations to determine how much time he was to waste before realising that the case was a plant.

"I know Skyway Manor by sight," he said, "I will be there in half an hour."

"But Holmes, why don't you go to Lord Greenstone first?"

"Did you not hear the story? I want to see that golden watch at once!"

I was about to confess my plan to him, but he just wouldn't let me speak. His excitement with the case and his impatience towards my every comment were such that I was unable to find the courage to tell him.

"The case seems to be a most extraordinary one. Too bad the solution is rather obvious, but not so is the trace of the murderer," he said as he walked to the door.

"Holmes!" I said before he was away.

"What!" he shouted indignantly.

"You forget your hat," I said after a pause.


	3. Chapter 3

III

Sherlock Holmes was away until late at night, which gave me a relief. The fact that the address Desailles had given was a real one, had baffled me at first; but then I reached the conclusion that it was all for the best, since this meant that Holmes was to waste the least possible time before he found out there was no Frank Stanley, having the rest of the day to find Lord Greenstone's son.

As I said, Holmes was out until late at night, and it was only in the morning that I got to exchange a few words with him.

"I'm going to see Lord Greenstone now!" he said as he left once more.

His mood had become very rude, but he was healthy again, which was all I cared about in those days.

Shortly after lunch, Mrs Hudson ushered a visitor into our lodgings. It was no one else than Lord Greenstone, who came in asking about Holmes.

"He left in the morning," I explained, "have you not seen him yet?"

"No. I sent a telegram at the first hour yesterday but I haven't received any reply from him."

"Well," said I with notorious embarrassment, "he has been engaged in a most remarkable case, which requires his full attention. But I'm absolutely sure he's been trying to get in touch with you."

"It's quite possible," explained Lord Greenstone. "I have been constantly moving from place to place trying to find my boy. I've gone to see most of his friends and they don't know anything about where he might be now. Would you please urge Mr Holmes to contact me when you see him?" he asked. "I'm absolutely certain that this time his disappearance is for real," he added not without betraying his grief.

After his lordship had left, my sense of guilt was as high as it had been for the last days. Holmes had not yet seen him, and it was all my fault. I could only hope that the boy was found without further delay, or else…

Holmes got home just as late as the day before, and I had already gone to bed. However, this time I woke up and rushed to the main room, finding him sitting on the settee with another envelope in his hands.

"Holmes!" I said, "you have to see Lord Greenstone at once!"

Holmes' expression was grave when he replied.

"I come from his very house."

"Oh! And have you found his son?"

"Yes – he's dead."

"Dead!" I screamed, my knees trembling. "But, Holmes…"

"What?" he asked defiantly. "It was not my fault; the boy was dead when I got there."

I could hardly believe my ears. There was the man who wouldn't miss the tiniest clue when fighting crime, excusing himself after having waited a whole day before putting his hands in the case of young Greenstone's disappearance. Of course I had only myself to blame; I should have had explained to him that the other case was a plant. Still, I couldn't see how he had not contacted his lordship in the remainder of the day; unless, he had been unable to do so, due to Lord Greenstone's travels, in which case his visit to Skyway Manor would have been most unfortunate.

He seemed to read the worry in my face, for his tone smoothed when again he spoke.

"Have you written a letter to a friend recently?" he asked.

"Yes! How did you know?" I replied without even daring to meet his glance.

"Here. Returned to sender," he said as he handed me the very letter I had written to Desailles, the envelope still sealed. "Your friend must have moved."

"What?"

"He probably doesn't live there any more."

"Oh!" I exclaimed with my eyes fixed on the letter. "But…but…"

"But, but?" said Holmes, now smiling.

"But yesterday you went to investigate that other case!"

"What other case?"

"Why, the one with the blooded room!"

"Ah, of course. Well it happened that the blood in the room was young Greenstone's, you see?" he explained. "So it was all just one case."

My heart grew lighter after learning that it was not fault of any of us that the young boy had been killed. I can't forgive myself for feeling relief when someone has died, but I had been living in hell for the last hours.

"And did you find the murderer?" I asked.

"Yes," said Holmes lighting his pipe and leaning back on the settee. "When Mr Stanley showed me to the room I knew at once that whoever had lost so much blood had to be dead; and when I saw the golden watch, I recognised it as that of young Greenstone's; so I thought there was no rush to meet his lordship then, for I was already working on his case. The murderer has already confessed his crime, but I'm still to hear his story. However, the events as I gather were as follows. Stanley hosts a party for some fifty guests, young Greenstone and the murderer being two of them. After a while, they decide to play poker, for which they find a disengaged room to get some quietness. At some point during the game, a quarrel between them takes place. Young Greenstone takes off his watch, preparing himself for what he thought would be a fist fight; however, he doesn't count on his opponent having carried a knife in one his pockets, and he gets stabbed to death, twice in his heart and once in his neck. Shocked by what he's done, the killer must make up his mind quickly about what to do. He can't escape leaving his victim behind, for he has been seen with him in the party and he would become the main suspect. Instead, he can afford to take the body with him, knowing that young Greenstone has been reported missing before, without him having anything to do with it. This plan would give him a couple of days to vanish before the police suspects him. Now he has to think of how to take the dead body out of the house without anyone noticing. The main door is discarded; there are fifty witnesses waiting in the ground floor. The window would mean having to drop young Greenstone from a great high, with an inevitable thud that would bring everyone to see. And there's the chimney, which represents an impossible challenge… unless he had a rope ladder. He knows just where to find one and he decides to go for it; and again he has to think of how to exit the room. To go out the door would mean to leave the room unlocked, which represents a risk he cannot afford to run; the chimney can't be climbed without the ladder; and the window is the only way out. Making his way to the ground by means of the water pipe must have been a difficult task, but – determined as he is – he makes it unnoticed, but not without leaving his footmarks on the gravel. Once he gets the rope ladder and a plastic bag, he finds his way up to the roof of the house; he fastens the ladder to a couple of tubes and drops it down the chimney to the room of the murder. By this time, his victim has lost most of his blood, leaving a big red pool on the floor. He probably wipes some of it against the walls before putting the body inside the bag. Then he climbs the rope with his burden on his shoulder, without forgetting to take with him the deck of cards they have been playing with. As for the ace of spades, I'm inclined to believe that it didn't belong to the original deck, and that it was the cause of the quarrel. It being an ace supports this theory, and also the fact that it was found in the fireplace; it must have fallen from one of young Greenstone's sleeves as he was being carried up the chimney."

"And what about the watch?" I asked.

"He never noticed it."

"Well, how did you catch the murderer?"

"I didn't. Lord Greenstone did. Of course I helped by finding a couple of hairs in the fireplace. So we were looking for a man with curly blonde hair, and strong enough to climb a ladder with a dead man on his shoulder. And we also had his footmarks. When I finally reached his lordship and gave him my report, he knew right away who our man was. In a container in the yard of his house we found the corpse in the bag, and the ladder. What he intended to do with them I can only guess."

"Well, my friend," said I, "it's great to have you back."

"Thank you, Watson. And I'm not forgetting my promise, you see? I got us both tickets to 'King Lear' tomorrow."

THE END


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